


Duty before Inclination

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [26]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: Laurens stops moving, looks Hamilton in the eye then says, “I am planning on asking the General leave to join the campaign in the south.”Hamilton breathes out slowly and, for a moment, forgets to breathe in again. “Ask leave?”[Laurens decides to join the southern campaign, angering and upsetting Hamilton.]





	Duty before Inclination

Alexander Hamilton stands in General Washington's office at his winter headquarters in the house of John Wallace. The General and his staff recently returned from more than a month long stay in Philadelphia while the General met with Congress. The time spent in the city was both interesting and near unbearably dull. While they were able to learn much of the thoughts of Congress on the war, there was also considerably less for the aides–de–camp to occupy their time while not at headquarters.

Now, however, they have new pressing information to speed them back into action.

“Savannah,” the General says to his assembled aides around the table. “We learned in Philadelphia, as you have hopefully heard here as well, that Savannah has fallen to the British.”

Hamilton hears a curse. James McHenry, Caleb Gibbs and Richard Kidder Meade were not in Philadelphia with them when they received the news of the city's capture. Apparently, word had not yet reached their encampment. Hamilton glances at John Laurens beside him. He sees a matching expression of worry on Laurens' face.

“When I left you, sir, the Congress appeared less focused on the Southern campaign than in retaking New York?”

The General turns at Richard Kidder Meade's question with a nod. “As I have been, and I do believe it is still vital to our continued fight.”

“Savannah cannot be ignored,” Laurens says suddenly, gesturing to the map on the table. “If we allow it, the south could become as a line of dominoes.”

“It is one city,” Tench Tilghman interrupts. “We must not think the southern campaign suddenly lost!”

“Nor can we think it safe as it remains at present,” Laurens counters.

“And I have not said such,” The General interrupts with a reproachful look toward Laurens. “I advised the Congress to be wary of the situation in the south and you see now the results of their delay.”

“It is a change in their strategy,” Hamilton says, stepping forward over the map. “They think we focus on the north, so they plan to cut off the other half instead, weakening the whole.”

Robert Hanson Harrison leans over the map across from Hamilton. “What with Savannah taken, it is South Carolina which could falter next.”

Hamilton glances back at Laurens. He stands stiff, his jaw tight. His eyes fix on the map, on his home state which could be next to fall.

“Can we not send reinforcements?” Hamilton asks as he turns back toward Harrison.

“From where?' Gibbs says. He crosses to a sideboard and picks up a ledger. “Our forces are stretched as thin as ever.” He flips through pages. “We have not paid our forces since –”

“We are aware,” Harrison interrupts.

“And should that not matter?” Gibbs counters.

“Gentlemen,” The General interrupts. “Our concern is the southern campaign.”

The aides around the room pull themselves up taller, Tilghman taking a seat and grabbing a quill, anticipating the coming debate and discussion. Meade passes him a sheet of paper.

“I have no illusions as to the danger now facing the South. I will not, however, completely abandon our efforts and the strides we have made in the north here. Philadelphia is ours once more and, should we retake New York, the north will be a better entrenchment.”

The General steps forward toward the map, places metal discs as representations of their army's forces over the map. “As to the south, Brigadier General Williamson in South Carolina warns of a lack of men to hold what land and cities are ours.”

“What of the French?” Meade asks. 

“French troops?” Harrison asks, shaking his head. “It is money more than men they provide.”

“They have allied themselves with our cause,” Hamilton says, “Why should they not provide men as well?”

“But can we ensure they will be willing to do so?” Harrison says. “And with the time allowed to us?”

“It would be months,” Meade says.

“And we do not have the time,” Laurens says suddenly drawing the eye of most in the room, the truest southern among them. “With the men left in that state and the obvious British tactic now, how long should Charleston hold without aid?”

Laurens' face appears drawn. Hamilton wishes he could hold Laurens' hand now, provide some assurances that they will not allow Laurens' home to be lost.

“Suggestions?” the General says into the gap after Laurens' words.

“The French,” Hamilton reiterates. “It may take some time but they have ships and much of the southern cities are ports. A French fleet could match the British as they do not expect.”

“The British as a naval power would be hard to match,” McHenry says, breaking his silence up until that point.

“But we have had victories with our ships against theirs,” Hamilton continues, “small perhaps, but not without merit.”

“You cannot think to change this war to a naval one?” Harrison asks.

“No, but if the French could repulse British ships, bring us further troops...”

“It would help bolster our numbers,” Meade adds in, “and perhaps cut off some of the British force distracted at sea?”

“But is it not a guarantee,” Harrison interrupts. 

“And when has much of this war had any guarantee,” Hamilton interjects.

“Lafayette has only just left us with the hope of more aid,” Harrison continues, ignoring Hamilton’s jab. “He will unlikely have even landed in France as yet and how long might it take him to gain us any assistance?”

“And how much at that?” Gibbs adds.

“Could we not find a way to raise more American troops?” McHenry asks.

The noises around the room range from scoffs to outright laughter from Meade. 

Tilghman shakes his head. “Gibbs spoke earlier of our lack of payment. Surely the men who have deserted will have spread this knowledge.”

“Then perhaps pay them,” Meade says dryly.

“Colonel Meade,” The General retorts sharply, “you need not be flippant now.”

“My apologies, Your Excellency.”

“If not the French, then perhaps we might send south some troops from our forces here?” Hamilton asks. He gestures to the markers for their encampment here in New Jersey. “Perhaps some of the southern regiments? They should be more inclined to fight for their own state?”

“Perhaps,” Harrison says, “but that shall leave a sizable deficit in our forces here which is meant to be our stronghold.”

“And our forces cannot simply abandon our northern campaign,” the General says.

“What of the blacks?” Laurens asks suddenly. Hamilton turns to him as the General gives Laurens a cautious look. “A black regiment could be raised to fight on our side with the prospect of their freedom as recompense?”

The General breathes in slowly. “It is a dangerous option.”

“But it is an untapped resource of thousands of able bodied men.”

“With even more to gain,” Tilghman says quietly.

“And a plan you have thought of at length,” Hamilton adds.

Laurens looks at Hamilton, his hands clasped behind his back, and gives Hamilton a small smile.

The General turns away then glances back briefly to Laurens. “It is something to consider.”

Hamilton sees Laurens' smile widen and Hamilton cannot help a grin in turn.

The discussion devolves from there into the problem of Savannah itself, the loss of the city's resources, how many men killed or captured. Gibbs is lacking in the information he should wish but does mention the need for more food sources as the south is a key provider of such. 

Hamilton cannot stop his eye continually searching out Laurens as they discuss troop numbers and the various Generals in the south. Laurens speaks less than Hamilton would expect during the discussion. He nods as appropriate and mentions his father once, who might be able to assist with any entreats to Congress. Yet despite Hamilton putting forth another proposal of the French option, suggesting some alternative methods of gathering funds, Laurens remains more mum than his usual fervent voice. Hamilton hopes Laurens has not fallen into some melancholy over the situation in the south and the possible loss of Charleston and South Carolina. Hamilton shifts himself as close as he is able to Laurens during the discussion. More than once he meets Laurens eye and thinks he sees something there, something Laurens may soon say. Perhaps Hamilton only wishes to see such in his own concern but suspects it more likely Laurens thinks more than he speaks.

 

Late in the evening, after the debate and the usual work of the day has passed, the rider with the dispatches just departed, Hamilton sits beside Laurens where he writes at a table in the corner of the back parlor.

Laurens glances over at him when he sits. “What would you ask me Hamilton?”

Hamilton cocks his head. “Ask you?”

“You have that look I have seen much about you.”

Hamilton smiles fondly. “I would ask how you can see so.”

Laurens puts his quill in its stand and turns to Hamilton with a smile. “Perhaps it is how often I watch you.”

“Ah, is that so?”

“You know such.”

“I do.”

Laurens touches Hamilton's wrist briefly then folds his hands. “Then what would it be you wish to say?”

Hamilton turns his chair for some illusion of privacy, his back to the door of the parlor. “I would prefer you to speak to me.” Laurens frowns. “Today you were unusually guarded in your opinions to the General and staff.”

“I spoke as I saw fit.” Laurens shrugs. “What more would you have had me say?”

“Do not suppose I do not know you well, Laurens.”

Laurens sighs. “You are not in the wrong, Hamilton. I have much weighing on my mind at present.”

“South Carolina?”

“Yes.”

“You may worry, yes, but we have survived this war thus far; we lost Philadelphia only to regain it. Should Charleston fall...”

Laurens sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his face.

“Should Charleston fall,” Hamilton continues, “we will not allow it to remain thus and we will fight to regain it.”

“But at what cost?”

“It is war; our cost is unavoidable.”

“It is easy to say such when it is not your home,” Laurens snaps.

Hamilton’s teeth clench and he frowns. “I can tell you much about the destruction of one’s home, Laurens. Do not think me without feeling or understanding.”

Laurens looks at him quickly then sighs once more. “My apologies, Hamilton. I should not assume so and I know your past is painful enough to you without my harshness.”

Hamilton cups Laurens face, running his thumb over Laurens' cheek. He wishes to kiss away the frustration and unease in Laurens' continence, but dare not in so public a place, in a headquarters they know less well. 

Hamilton pulls his hand back and sits up straighter. “I shall forgive you now.”

Laurens smiles a little. “Thank you.”

“Do you write to your father?” Hamilton asks of the papers before Laurens.

Laurens sits up straighter. “No, it is another draft of my black regiment plan.”

Hamilton brightens. “Oh?”

“If the General should consider it an option and the Congress agree, I would prefer to have something written and ready for them to review.”

“Quite so,” Hamilton agrees. “We should write something quite detailed so our Southern Generals do not take your plan into any error. I can imagine them mistaking your meaning in such a way as to cause any men conscripted to remain slaves at the end of their fighting.” Hamilton waves a hand. “But you know my cynicism on such a subject.”

Laurens stares at him for a long moment then looks away again. “Yes, of course.”

“Should you need any assistance?”

Laurens looks back to him. “I should be glad of it.”

Laurens picks up his quill once more then hands another to Hamilton. “I am just on the matter of numbers and whose slaves exactly should be chosen as soldiers.”

“Good. I imagine you think to offer your father's own?”

“I do.”

“A wise place to begin.”

“Hamilton, if I should...” Laurens starts then suddenly shuts his mouth a moment. “As to my plan, as to the south…”

Hamilton stares back, waits as Laurens trails off a second time. He frowns as he dips his quill in Laurens' inkpot. “What?”

“I only wish to do all I can to serve.”

Hamilton nods. “Of course, as do we all.”

“I wish to fight for my state, the south, for us all… you know this.”

Hamilton huffs with a smile. “Of course, dear Laurens, I stand beside you in this, I work as diligently. What is amiss?”

“I simply...” Laurens scratches a line on his page, thick and blot–like. Then he pulls the pen back. He smiles quickly and touches Hamilton's hand. “I would simply wish you to know I care for you.”

Hamilton frowns, confused at the turn of conversation. “Laurens...”

“That is all.” He pulls his hand pack and turns to the papers in front of him. “Now, I would be grateful for your input on the dispute that is bound to arise from the never ending argument of these men as property and would not this be a loss to their owners, ridiculous as it is when there is a war and much more than this to be said on slavery as it is, but I must not get bogged down.”

Hamilton watches Laurens for a moment, feels he has missed a line in the writing of Laurens' words. But he puts it aside and leans closer to Laurens, their shoulders touching and quills side by side. “Yes, I have a thought there.”

 

The following morning, Hamilton sets to work on an inventory of their munition stores. They returned to headquarters with concerns from Gibbs about some of their gunpowder inadequately stored causing at least three barrels to become wet and unusable. He crosses paths with Tilghman somewhere around midday, the other man determining most dire needs among the ranks for new uniform and boot provisions.

Tilghman informs him, “Laurens searches for you.”

Hamilton hurries to the end of his inventory, tasking a Captain to finish the last two stores so he may return to the house. He passes the General and Harrison speaking heatedly in the General’s office over what sounds to be word from Congress, no doubt more reports on Savannah. Hamilton crosses the hall to the aide office and finds Laurens seated across from McHenry, the two silent as they write. Hamilton smiles for a moment, watching Laurens at work then he clears his throat.

The two men look up. “Ah,” McHenry says. “Hamilton, do you have the finished munitions inventory?”

“Not as yet completely.”

McHenry frowns. “Was that not the task which you left for this morning?”

Hamilton sees Laurens give McHenry a cutting look.

“So it was,” Hamilton says, “And it is very close to completion.” Then he shifts his attention to Laurens. “Laurens, Tilghman said you looked for me?”

Laurens puts his quill down, leaving some spots of ink on his page. “Yes.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows, waiting. Then Laurens stands up from the table and steps past Hamilton out into the hall. “In private?”

Hamilton's lips quirk slightly. “As you wish.”

Laurens leads them down the hall, across from the rear parlor and into Mr. Wallace's study. Some open books of the household accounts lie on the desk. Hamilton steps over and closes them just as Laurens closes the door, the click matching the page. 

Hamilton smiles in good humor then turns to Laurens. “Private you said?”

“Not as that.”

“I did not think so with a study as your destination.”

Laurens smiles then his expression falls again just as quickly. He looks away, paces right once then steps back. He is nervous. Hamilton’s mood drops at once. “What is it? Has something happened?”

Laurens looks at him once more pacing a few steps and shakes his head. “No... not yet.”

“Not yet?”

Laurens stops moving, looks Hamilton in the eye then says, “I am planning on asking the General leave to join the campaign in the south.”

Hamilton breathes out slowly and, for a moment, forgets to breathe in again. “Ask leave?”

“The British aim is now focused on the south. With their capture of Savannah, South Carolina is the next step in their march and fight. Charleston must be defended and held. I must do my part to help and fight and keep it in our hands.”

“You must?” Hamilton stares at him. “You?”

“I am a South Carolinian.”

“You are not the only one.”

“I have my plan, my black regiment.”

“Which any man may implement.”

“Which many with contest,” Laurens says with emphasis. “It will not matter to them how it may help our cause as they will care for their purse and property over our war. How many others care as I do or give voice as well as I to this plan?”

Hamilton frowns, his hand clenching. “So it is pride?”

Laurens shakes his head. “No, it is necessity and duty.”

“Duty?” Hamilton snaps louder than he intends. “Your duty is here. Your position is here.”

“It is only a leave of absence. I am not resigning.”

“No, but you plan to leave.”

“The south is our important battle field. It is my home!”

“This country is our home!” Hamilton waves a hand. “Do you not think the General cares of the south? He is a Virginian.”

“And Virginia is still far from the most danger.”

“And South Carolina is very far from here.” Hamilton swallows and breathes carefully again to keep his chest from tightening.

Laurens looks away for a moment, his hands balling into fists. Then he looks at Hamilton once more. “I am needed in the southern campaign. I believe I can be of best use and service there.”

Hamilton glares at Laurens, his expression dark and his mouth tight. “Is your desk too much a chain that you must break free now? Do you desire the sword so?”

Laurens steps closer. “Please, Hamilton, I do not say these things without consideration as to the pain I may cause.”

Hamilton backs up a step. “Do you not? You sound quite so. Do you fear this? What is here?” 

He cannot say what whirls in his mind completely – are you afraid of us?

“I think of duty now, of the needs of this war,” Laurens hisses, clearly trying to keep his voice from rising. “You cannot imagine how I have struggled with this decision.”

“And you wait until this moment to tell me?” Hamilton scoffs. “I wonder you had not spoken to General Washington this morning and only tell me after your fate is determined.”

“Hamilton, do not stoop so!”

“Do not assume what I think!”

“I only wish you might support me. It shall be hard enough to leave you.” Laurens tries to take Hamilton's hand but he pulls it away.

Hamilton shakes his head. “You would ask me to grant you permission or forgiveness for such action? As though you are the one man who could change the fate of the southern campaign. Do you put yourself so high?”

“I did not say such. You twist my intentions.”

Hamilton shakes his head again, pacing away from Laurens. “No, you seek an escape. You fear such idleness here. Such closeness. So long in Philadelphia with your father, did that warp your mind back to such duties which are far from what is between us?”

Laurens stares at him, his expression torn. “Hamilton...”

“I am not obtuse, Laurens!” Hamilton points sharply. “Your desire to fight is not your only motivation.”

“It is not, I have said –”

“You have not said what I know is within you.”

“No, Hamilton.”

“And you ask me to support this?”

“I must put my duty before us, Hamilton!” Laurens says loudly so Hamilton’s mouth clicks closed. Laurens breathes in deeply and his voice drops low once more. “I do not want to leave you. I would not wish to be far from you, from your arms... but I know where my duty must lie. I know my black plan can work but that it requires me to make it so. I know that Charleston is vulnerable and I cannot sit idly here and let it fall. It is not a desire to leave you behind. You must believe me.”

Hamilton clenches his teeth. He wants to say selfish things, needy things – what about me? Then someone raps sharply on the door. Laurens jerks slightly, his mouth open, his face imploring. Hamilton does not move. Laurens turns and opens the door.

Harrison stands on the other side. “I apologize, I must interrupt. McHenry said you were to be found some where here.”

“Yes?” Hamilton asks sharply.

Harrison gives him a look then holds up a rolled up page, which looks to be a map. “The General asks for all his aides’ presence.”

Laurens nods. “We shall come.”

Harrison nods back then returns down the hall.

Hamilton moves to march angrily past Laurens but Laurens grips his arm to stop him. Hamilton turns a seething look on him. Laurens' face, however, is too forlorn for Hamilton to maintain his full anger.

“Please, Hamilton, believe me.”

Hamilton looks at him for a moment then pulls away and walks down the hall without a response. He thinks of rain, of thunder, of a hurricane at his door.

 

Hamilton and Laurens spend several days circling in terse and stilted interactions. They weave around each other with quick harsh words passed between them followed by gaps of silences, Laurens casting imploring looks and Hamilton pretending ignorance or malice. 

“Do you not think your plan could be implemented by another?” Hamilton hisses at Laurens. “You are not the only man who believes in emancipation.”

Laurens scoffs. “You know little of South Carolina, Hamilton.”

“And you think too highly of yourself!”

Hamilton tries every avenue, every line of thought he can muster which shall prove to Laurens the folly of his actions. Is not the position of aide-de-camp important and needed? General Washington is the commander in chief of the army and Laurens prefers to walk away?

“This is headquarters; this here is the heart of the army, Laurens!”

“But the fight is now to the south, Hamilton. Can you not see that?” Laurens insists, gripping his arm. “You do not listen to my words and intent. I have a duty –”

“A duty which lies here!”

They speak as they must among the other aides, simple and to the point. For once, they do not sit beside one another in the office.

The difference in their interactions is marked enough that Meade asks Hamilton, “Is something amiss? Is Laurens concerned over the issue of South Carolina?”

Hamilton frowns and snips. “It is certainly over South Carolina.”

Hamilton feels a clutching at his heart, memory of pain that he will not revisit. He remembers Laurens after Brandywine, after Germantown, Laurens dueling – the fear of losing him – Laurens away for months on his own mission, Hamilton away from him sick in bed, simply being apart. Why should Laurens choose to cause Hamilton pain? Why should he think one duty more worthy than another like this? Why can he not listen to what Hamilton says, what Hamilton knows to be correct?

“The General will solve the south,” Hamilton says, appealing to rationality. “The French –”

“There are many ways to solve this, Hamilton,” Laurens cuts him off. “My plan is best.”

“As you think.”

“You are not arguing with me over duty or plans and we both know this.” Laurens' expression begs Hamilton to relent and it makes Hamilton want to kiss Laurens and hurt him all at once. “I care for you, you know my heart, so please do not act as this.”

“I act as you have caused.”

“Please, Hamilton, do not think me insincere or that I desire to leave you.”

Hamilton only glares. “If you cared so as you say, you would not leave.”

Hamilton knows many of his words fall harsh, rash even, but he also believes much of them true. A man may tell himself he chooses one path for one reason, but a man's mind and soul are rarely so simple. Hamilton thinks, can he be so easy to leave behind? Is this what he feared when he wished to keep much of the world apart from his heart? Has he failed in letting Laurens close, allowing such intimacies only to have them returned now with abandonment?

 

Laurens finds Hamilton on the evening of the fifth day of their cold relations in the front parlor turned aide-de-camp office working with Tilghman and Harrison.

“Hamilton, might I speak with you?”

Hamilton looks up. “Yes?”

“Perhaps elsewhere?”

Harrison glances up with a confused frown while Tilghman only smirks. Hamilton considers saying no, considers making Laurens wait or squirm or beg. Instead, he stands and walks into the hall. 

He takes only two steps away from the doorway then turns back to Laurens. “Well?”

Laurens glances behind himself at the door, clearly wishing for true privacy. “Hamilton, I –”

“Tell me.”

Laurens clears his throat. “I have spoken to General Washington.”

“So?”

“The General has approved my request to join the southern campaign, after some displeasure and argument on his part.”

“He is of my mind.”

“Not exactly the same.”

Hamilton purses his lips. “No.”

“I need now only gain approval for my black regiment from Congress then I may travel south.”

“I see.”

“I wished you to know first.” Hamilton sees Laurens’ hands twitch, reaching out just inches but no further. Hamilton does not move to meet him.

“Thank you, I now know.”

Hamilton steps around Laurens back toward the door to the aide office.

“Hamilton...”

Hamilton does not turn back but walks right to his seat and the copies of letters he writes. He does not look up at the stares he feels from Harrison and Tilghman. He has nothing to say. Perhaps he acts the child now, the spurned lover, the dramatic, but he cannot think past his anger, past betrayal. Does Laurens know him so little?

 

The following morning Hamilton helps Meade prepare the bag of dispatches to be sent north with Meade. Those to send south go with another courier who will not return for weeks while Meade will be back within days.

“I hear Laurens intends to join the battle south?” Meade asks as they check names and seals on letters.

“It is so,” Hamilton replies flatly.

“I cannot claim much surprise when he is the only aide from so far south.”

Hamilton looks up at him and cannot help feel some inkling of a desire to put Meade right about his own origins further south but instead simply looks down once more. “We are a united country now. One state must fight for all.”

“Yet each state falls alone.”

Hamilton looks up again in surprise.

Meade makes a face at one letter, picking up a quill to add a line to the front. “If Philadelphia is occupied it is not Boston who loses sons to British prison ships or has property seized to house British officers. If Savannah is overtaken it is not Williamsburg which loses all its crops and livelihood to feed the British advance.”

Meade sighs, adding the amended letter to the bag. “I fear sometimes our states still act too separate to truly care of another's pain. We wish to use their strengths, true, for the fight to free us all.” He looks at Hamilton then. “But do we each hurt the same when stomped by the British in the streets of our own city?”

Meade purses his lips. “I cannot claim to have understood the Boston plight so many years back nor can I claim the true pain of those in Savannah now. I must imagine Laurens quite bereft at the idea of his family caught under British fire, his home burnt or city ruined.”

“You cannot expect such extreme results to occur,” Hamilton says sharply. 

“I can imagine all manner of worry a man might feel.” Meade shakes his head as he turns over two more letters, tapping at the wax seals. “True, we cannot predict how the British may progress or how they may act but you know and have seen the state of our captured soldiers when they return.” Meade shakes his head once more. “I think worry justified and Laurens' desire to be there to stop such understandable.”

Hamilton swallows once, turning his eyes away to the first letter still clutched in his hand. “Yes...”

“Do you find some fault with this correspondence?” Meade asks, taking the letter out of Hamilton's hand. “It appears sound.”

“Yes,” Hamilton says quickly. “It is so. You merely have given me pause.”

“What? Of the southern campaign?”

“Of Laurens,” Hamilton replies.

“Ah.” Meade smiles as he places the last letter in the bag. “I believe he shall do well. What with his drive, he may be the pin that shifts the balance.”

Hamilton gives Meade a look. “One man?”

“His Excellency is but one man and see what his mere presence can accomplish.” Meade picks up the bag and gives Hamilton a casual salute. “I shall be off, please inform his Excellency of my departure if you would be so kind.”

Hamilton nods as he watches Meade turn out of the room and toward the front door. 

Hamilton considers what a man with family, a sense of place, a connection to his name, his prospects might think, how he might act. He thinks of himself, cutting such ties, creating a place anew, no family to lose because he has lost them long past.

“Perhaps I did not understand you, Laurens,” Hamilton whispers to himself.

He wonders what choice he would make should their places be reversed. Yet he cannot help but think of his own heart, of the heart he knows Laurens holds and has as his own. He knows Laurens' heart and he cannot still explain away what Laurens twists inside Hamilton now.

Hamilton is not a man to allow events to simply happen around him. No, Hamilton prefers to act.

 

“Laurens,” Hamilton says as he catches Laurens at the top of the stairs another day later. “Follow me.”

Laurens opens his mouth in surprise but shuts it again quickly. Hamilton leads him down the hall to the farthest room, which is Hamilton's. Hamilton has a room temporarily to himself. It is normally a servant's quarters, space enough only for one bed and a narrow dresser with a washbasin in the windowsill. Laurens rooms with Tilghman and Meade down the hall while Harrison and McHenry billet together. Gibbs had been requisitioned to share the cramped space with Hamilton but, with his recent tasks keeping him so much in the lines, he has often slept out in a tent among the men for ease. Thus, Hamilton has a room alone. It seems fate now that they need the privacy.

“I have thought some on your desire to ride south and to fight with your countrymen.”

Laurens nods, his expression wary, “Yes?”

“I am of a similar mind as you, belief in your regiment and the changing tide of this war.”

“Yes.”

“I think it possible I could help as well as you.”

Laurens frowns. “What is your meaning, Hamilton?”

“That I might join you south.”

Laurens stares back at him. “You mean to request reassignment south?”

“And why should I not?”

“I do not believe the General should allow you.”

“He allowed you.”

“You matter more than I, Hamilton, and I am the southern.”

Hamilton gives him a look. “If you must continue on that line, I can claim far more southern roots than you.”

Laurens smiles. “An island?”

Hamilton shakes his head. “This is beyond the point. If I should request to join the battle south, where men and officers are most needed, I could aid your black regiment plan.”

“You could.”

“Another who believes as you do.”

Laurens nods. “Yes, Hamilton, but your skills are at best use here at the General's side.” Laurens grips Hamilton's hands. “You are the best aide the general has.”

“Tench is the best aide.”

“Hamilton...”

Hamilton squeezes Laurens hands. “Why would you tell me no? To keep me safe?”

“Your ambitions...”

Hamilton pulls his hands back. “My ambitions can be fulfilled in many ways. A command in the south is just as well as where I am now.”

Laurens crosses his arms. “You think that so?”

Hamilton puts his hands on his hips in response, mirroring a tense pose. “You think you may risk yourself and leave me here as a book on a shelf?”

“No!” Laurens hisses.

“Oh? Then what is your aim?”

“I must fight! I must protect my state. How long before Charleston could be next?” Laurens says in a rush, leaning into the words, then turns to the side, staring at the wall.

Hamilton touches Laurens' shoulder so he looks at him again. “And why might I not fight by your side?”

Laurens stares at him and hesitates. “I...”

Hamilton pulls his hand back again, a crack forming in the pride and confidence he crafts around himself. “Unless you should wish to be rid of me?”

Laurens looks at him sharply. “How could you say so?”

Hamilton’s mouth turns hard. “You are leaving of your own accord. That is how.”

Laurens turns fully to face Hamilton again, stepping closer. “You know I– how can you not know how I care for you, more than anything?”

“Not more than your desire for valor on the field.” Hamilton retorts, his anger rising once more.

“That is not so.”

“Not more than your honor, your schemes, your need for sword!”

“Why do you try to wound me so?” His voice rising and his face hurt so Hamilton feels even angrier. “You know our fight, what we must do and our personal feelings must be second. I have no wish to leave you.”

Hamilton waves his hands. “Then I should fight beside you!”

“And how should that look?” Laurens suddenly snaps his voice bending harsh. “Hmm? A man of your skills and drive and plans suddenly leaving such an exalted post for the south? You believe no questions raised?”

“Now you aim to wound me and feed your paranoia!”

“And is my paranoia not justified for men like us?” Laurens hisses.

Hamilton huffs out a breath. “And what should you think your duty south will cause, you to care for me less?”

“No!” Laurens grips Hamilton's hands. “I would not wish that. Nothing could do so!”

“But perhaps you deem your duty safer?” Hamilton snaps, pulling his hands away.

“I...” Laurens halts abruptly as he speaks, surprising Hamilton. Laurens stares at the floor. “Yes, perhaps.”

Hamilton wonders if he is Laurens' hurricane. 

They both stand silent, not meeting each other’s eye. Neither can deny the danger they live from both the war and their hearts.

Finally, Hamilton speaks again, voice dropped. “You are not the only man who longs to fight by sword.”

Laurens looks up again, staring at him – a look like fire, like being wrapped in gold and made holy. Laurens speaks quietly. “You are safer here.”

“I am no China doll nor woman to lock by home and hearth,” Hamilton replies, his voice calm.

Laurens licks his lip. “I know.”

“Then do not coddle me.”

“Fine. I shall not coddle you.” Laurens stands up straighter. “Despite what we say I value my honor and duty and it must come first. In terms of this war, where men are needed, I am better in the south and you better here. Your pen is best while I am a southerner. My voice shall accomplish more among South Carolinians, certainly my family name. Yours would do far less.”

Hamilton shakes his head. “With a command...”

“Always a command!” Laurens hisses. “Alexander, can you not see your name is made here?”

Hamilton frowns again. “Perhaps you are merely ignorant as to what makes one's name significant being blessed with such a name at birth?”

Laurens huffs sharply, turning away from Hamilton, a hand over his face. “We cannot argue this indefinitely.”

“You cannot make my choices for me, Laurens!”

Laurens whips around again, pulling his hand off his eyes and pointing. “I do not try to.”

“Yes, yes you do!”

“I have told you the truth; I have told you what will happen. I have told you of my duty and you should know yours!”

“You cannot tell me my duty, Laurens, that is not your place.”

“I mean to say, that our duties in this war may not always align and that we must put them first. Despite...” Laurens' voice loses some of its furor. “Despite what we might wish.”

“I see what you wish,” Hamilton says. “Me here, locked away, and you on the field. I see this.”

Laurens looks away. “No, Hamilton, you do not see.” He looks back. “Do you not understand that my choice had to be made separate of you? If I were to truly choose my heart in all things, I should not be in this army at all. I should take your hand and leave now.”

Much of Hamilton’s righteous anger ebbs away. He keeps Laurens gaze, thinks of the first time just before they kissed, Laurens with a straight back and resigned to his fate.

“Yes... I understand this,” Hamilton finally replies.

Laurens watches him, waiting once more for Hamilton to lead despite his own divergent choices. Hamilton thinks forward then of what the south could be – a command, a name, fighting beside Laurens, dying beside Laurens, Laurens dying for him. He thinks of the endless work, a black battalion, opposition, just as many frustrations as their state here. He thinks of a man’s duty, of fear and bravery of another sort, and believes Laurens a better man than he.

“I understand,” Hamilton repeats.

“I would not hurt you, you know this? Please, say you do,” Laurens asks.

“I do.” Hamilton holds out his hand so Laurens takes it. “I cannot claim happiness at your choice.” Laurens looks down, his thumb rubbing over the back of Laurens' hand. “But I understand your duty.” 

Laurens looks up again. Hamilton pulls him closer by their joined hands. He pulls Laurens' head down with his other hand, pressing their foreheads together. Hamilton breathes in – Laurens and ink and his skin under hand – he tells himself to be a better man, to be a stronger man, less selfish, more brave.

“You must be sure to write me in your absence.”

Laurens chuckles. “I should break to pieces if I did not, if only for the comfort of your replies.”

Hamilton chuckles, stoking his fingers over Laurens' cheek and into his hair. “I may promise you those.”

“And it may only be some months before I return. If I may raise the regiment and they well hold the city and the state then the fight may change.”

“The British surrender?”

They both laugh. Laurens leans in and kisses Hamilton even as he laughs. Hamilton leans up into the kiss, feels content and safe. He thinks how he may not have this, his Laurens in his arms, again for too much time. He grips Laurens fiercely to him, kisses him harder, and warps an arm around Laurens. When he breaks their kiss he gasps, presses his nose into Laurens' cheek.

“Alexander...”

Hamilton pulls back enough to see Laurens' face. “Jack?”

“I... I apologize for any distress I...”

“Enough,” Hamilton says. “We have both spoken ill and may yet again. We need not belabor this.”

Laurens smiles. “As you say.”

“When are you to leave?” 

Laurens leans into Hamilton, touching his hair. “Some weeks, once I gain my approval and arrange travel.”

Hamilton smiles slowly. “Then we have time yet.”

 

Despite their argument and conversation, Hamilton does one thing more. 

Hamilton knocks on the General's office door with a sharp tap of his knuckles. He enters swiftly after hearing the 'come' from within.

“Your Excellency,” Hamilton says with a bow as he walks inside. 

The General sits at his desk with Gibbs standing beside him. The General finishes writing something on a piece of paper then hands it up to Gibbs.

“And the account for the Wallace's household if you please.”

“Sir.” Gibbs nods then marches around the desk, raising his eyebrows at Hamilton as he leaves.

“What is it, Hamilton?” The General asks, jotting something down with a pencil on the page in front of him.

“Sir, I have learned of Lieutenant Colonel Laurens' plans to journey south and attempt to implement his black regiment plan for the southern campaign.”

The General looks up at Hamilton briefly. “Yes, he made some compelling arguments and I was swayed.” The General shifts his papers around and picks up a sealed letter. “He is also a South Carolinian.”

“Quite so, Your Excellency.” Hamilton takes a step closer to the desk, standing up taller. “I also believe strongly in his plan and believe I could be of service.” The General stops moving, paying closer attention. “The shift of the war is now toward the south, which is also in great need of better and more experienced leadership.”

“You doubt our Generals in the south, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“No, sir, only that I could be an added benefit to the cause if I were given a command in the south.” Hamilton sees General Washington's expression morph into surprise but Hamilton presses on. “I have battle field experience, I have worked closely with Your Excellency, I am intimately aware of every side of our conflict, the hardships before us and I am well deserving of an opportunity to lead. I work well with Colonel Laurens, I understand the intricacies of his plan and he would do well to have some assistance. If the true difficulties and fight of this war are turned south I believe I would be best there.”

“You wish to leave my office for a southern command?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Request denied.” The General suddenly breaks the seal of the letter he had picked up with a crack.

Hamilton purses his lips and grips his hands behind his back. “Sir, I –”

“I simply cannot afford to lose another valuable aide what with Colonel Fitzgerald's injury at Monmouth and Laurens now. No, Hamilton, you will remain here.” 

“But, sir, if you –”

“I am denying your request, Colonel Hamilton, I will hear no more on it.”

Hamilton stares at him, a desire to yell close at his lips.

The General places the now opened letter on his desk and gestures to the door. “Dismissed.”

Hamilton turns on his heel, grabs the doorknob and turns swiftly from the office. He barely contains himself from slamming the door shut once more. He stares at the wood, his breath trying to run away with him. He stares at his hand on the handle, considers twisting it around and marching back inside to argue once more.

“Hamilton?”

He turns to see Laurens standing across the hall, a cup of tea in hand. The picture Laurens creates in this house seems so suddenly mundane, so domestic, that Hamilton breaths out a harsh breath.

Laurens’ face grows concerned. “Are you well?”

“I asked the General to join you south.”

Laurens stares at him, his lips tight together. “And?”

“And he denied me.”

Laurens nods. He steps closer and runs his hand down Hamilton's arm. He takes his hand and squeezes once. He does not shout or argue, does not reproach Hamilton for so quickly ignoring everything Laurens said to him, for approaching the General, for anything. He simply touches Hamilton's hand, stands near him and smiles. 

He says, “I am sorry, my dear Hamilton.”

Hamilton huffs out a breath and wonders how he found such a man.

 

It is March when Laurens' plans and approval are fully met, the tension and situation in the south none improved. Despite his private war between personal feelings and Laurens' duty, Hamilton cannot deny the benefit of Laurens' cause now. 

The General gives Hamilton notes to draft a letter to accompany Laurens south. 

“We should send our family member with the best recommendation,” The General says to Hamilton.

“Of course, Your Excellency.”

Hamilton writes the letter with more difficulty than he would suppose, crossing out words and changing lines many times before he feels it fit. Though he would wish Laurens to stay, he would also wish Laurens to be given all his due, especially when written by Hamilton’s own hand.

Laurens sits near him, his hand straying over Hamilton's knee. “Need I fear I give an ill report? My seat on horse most lacking, my writing as a child's and my sword entirely craven?”

Hamilton smiles, knows Laurens tries to cheer him. “Yes, every bit as you say.”

“Oh, then I shall be back far sooner, I should imagine.”

Hamilton blows on the ink and he puts his pen down. Then he smiles once more at Laurens. “You see my aim. I shall have to write anew now that my plot is exposed.”

“Ma pauvre chérie.”

Hamilton wants to kiss him, wants to do more than kiss him and he wishes the army to disappear if only for an hour. 

“Alexander.”

“John?”

“You know I... you know that no other should gain my affections, do you not?”

Hamilton chuckles once. “Do you mean to put some worry in me by feeling a need to say such?”

Laurens smiles. “I do not, only that persons parted may find their hearts growing less steadfast to one another.”

Hamilton gives him a look. “You doubt my conviction?”

“I am not a battle, Hamilton, and nor are we.”

“Exactly so. A simple battle should require far less conviction than we two. I do not trust or give my affection easily, Laurens, and yet here you are. Do you think I should be dragged away from you by anything less than an entire war?”

Laurens smiles and traces his finger over the back of Hamilton's hand, taping and dipping in the gaps of his fingers, twisting around his wrist. Hamilton watches the movements, feels himself tingle from the simple ministrations.

“Perhaps my conviction wavers now at the thought of you soon far from me,” Laurens whispers.

Hamilton watches him, the dip of Laurens' head and the set of his mouth. Hamilton might say any manner of things, any one word that could turn Laurens back to him now, back to stay.

“But you will not be far from my heart.” Laurens looks up at him and Hamilton cups Laurens' cheek with his other hand. “And I know yours will remain here with me.”

“It shall.”

“Then speak no more about such worries. As you said to me, duty first, yes?”

Laurens smiles and interlocks his fingers with Hamilton's. “Except perhaps in this moment.”

Hamilton glances at the door then dares to briefly lean close and kiss Laurens' lips, Laurens sighing in surprise and kissing back, before Hamilton pulls away again with a cheeky smile.

Hamilton squeezes Laurens' hand. “A good moment.” 

 

Hamilton would wish to see Laurens off in private but the other aides all come to see Laurens to his horse, even the General giving Laurens a hardy handshake and a 'good luck.'

“You must write to all of us,” Meade says as Laurens adds the recommendation letter to a saddlebag. “Not just to Hamilton.”

Hamilton scoffs.

“Yes,” Tilghman adds. “He is not your only friend here.”

“I hear you,” Laurens says, checking back with his servant's horse and cart. “But recall, I go for duty and the war, not pleasure.”

Harrison nods. “And we expect reports on this as well.”

Laurens chuckles. “And then I shall spend all my day writing and less fighting.”

“Better then,” Hamilton says quietly.

Laurens looks at him then brushes his fingers discretely over Hamilton's as he walks back toward his own horse.

“Here.” McHenry hands a cloth wrapped packet to Laurens. “Some herbal remedies should you need them.”

“Remedies for what?”

McHenry shrugs. “Most maladies which may affect you further south.”

“You do recall I am of that country, McHenry?” Laurens says with an eyebrow raise. “You should fear less for my health.”

“And more for wounds?” Gibbs quips as he covertly slips a bottle of whiskey into the saddlebag at the horse's opposite flank. Hamilton gives Gibbs a smile as he saunters back around to where the other aides stand.

“If we should get report of another wound in battle for you, Laurens, I shall call you the most unlucky man of the army,” Tilghman retorts.

“Or luckiest,” Meade counters. Tilghman gives him a skeptical look. “Luckiest as none have met their true mark, is that not so?”

Tilghman makes a convinced face while Harrison and McHenry merely shake their heads in exasperation.

“Do remain safe,” Hamilton insists, stepping closest to Laurens of all. “You do not travel south for glory.”

Laurens nods. “Only duty.”

“Glory can come with duty,” Meade says to Hamilton. “Do not deny him so.”

“Oh, he will spend more time in an office, I imagine, with his black regiment to raise,” Harrison says, his eyes rolling up. “The hurdles you shall be jumping.”

“Do not discourage him now, Harrison,” Gibbs cuts in. “He must ride quite far.”

“Gentlemen!” The aides all turn at the sound of General Washington's voice. “Colonel Laurens must be on his way and we cannot afford such idleness.”

A chorus of 'yes, sir,' and 'yes, Your Excellency,' answer his chastisement. The aides all bid farewell and move back toward the house. Hamilton, however, lingers for the brief moment he is able. Laurens looks down at him, a torn expression on his face.

“I shall miss you,” Laurens whispers.

Hamilton grips his hand. “Promise me you shall remain well and safe and write often.”

“I promise.”

Hamilton smiles. “Then I shall miss you too.”

Laurens laughs once like a huff and squeezes Hamilton's hand. He leans close as they dare and speaks softly “Adieu, my dear Alex.”

“Good bye, Jack, my love.”

Laurens smiles wide, the two of them frozen in space – one, two – then Laurens' horse stomps his foot, their hands separate and Laurens steps up onto the block and swings into his saddle. He grips his reigns, looking down at Hamilton. Laurens breathes in sharply then turns, digs his heels into the horse's flank and rides off down the road, his servant following.

Hamilton watches their retreat, the bob of Laurens in his saddle, his hair escaping from under his hat, the bend of his knee. Hamilton realises as they turn into the trees beyond his sight that he and Laurens have never used the word 'love' between them before until this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is in the process of becoming a book, to keep up with the progress check out the book website [Duty and Inclination](https://www.dutyandinclination.com/) and my author [facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/DupontWrites).


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